The Lawnmower Man

http://www.cnn.com/2008/CRIME/07/25/mower.madness.ap/index.html

Now... You might be tempted to look at this guy and think, my God, what a pathetic waste of human life, but I bet that you're not exactly seeing him at his best. At least I hope not. It's my contention that this fellow probably grew up fairly normal (whatever that is these days), and then somewhere along the line from then until now he probably just got jacked with one too many times until he finally snapped. You all know someone on a similar path - that crazy checker at the grocery store, or that co-worker who has put on 40 lbs in the past year and always comes back from lunch smelling like gin, maybe that one old guy who lives on the corner who methodically digs up little squares of his front lawn and sifts through the dirt (but only at night, by floodlight) - you know someone who some day is going to get fucked in the drive-thru one too many times and will go absolutely bug-nutz crazy and plow their car through the drive-thru window and scream 'but it said drive thru!!! It said drive thru!!!' as the cops taser him and carry him off to jail. The point is that this guy was probably relatively normal at some point in his life but that the continual stress of living in our society made him cave in one day and say 'fuck it.'

The idea that some people may be put on this Earth to simply serve as an example for others has crossed my mind more than once, so to that end I suggest using this story for something positive. When you have identified that one person in your life who is going to snap at any time, then email them this story. And then tell them, next time someone readeatedly kicks the back of their chair in the theater, next time they get cut-off in traffic, next time they only hear the second flush, and the sound of running water on the hard wood floor, along with the words 'uh oh' to remember what happened to The Lawnmower Man, and maybe it will make it all better :).

Len and the Art of Interviewing

"Successful job interviews are an artform that is easily learned but which is difficult to master. The successful interview is much like dance where two partners engage each other in a rhythmic pattern of mutual discovery until, at the climax of the music, a mutually beneficial arrangement is achieved" the book read. It sounded like smut then, and it sounds like smut now. The book then rambled on for pages about the virtues of punctuality, picking the right tie, researching the company, and other academic and largely useless interview checklist items. I didn't know how irrelevant most of this would be at the time, so I continued reading and collecting these little droppings until both my pockets were full and something didn't smell too great. I then got a good night sleep, woke bright and early, showered, dressed appropriately, and went on my first ever post-college interview. You know, the big one, the one where you're supposed to land a real job instead of working the teacup ride for a traveling carnival. The one that's supposed to show off that going off to college made sense.

Let's back up a minute. I had just graduated college with a degree in Biochemistry. A good private college too, not one of those wussy state schools where the final exams are multiple choice *cough* UMN *cough* so I actually did know how to do some pretty amazing (to me, at the time at least) stuff despite my B- average there. Want to know if that DNA matches? Need an HIV test? Want to grow mutant corn? No problemo! So, needless to say, I thought that I was pretty hot stuff. Obviously, I needed to find myself a hot stuff job. So, having an a) girlfriend heading to Minneapolis and b) a big head filled with very little sense, I decided to pack up our (100% her) stuff in a U-Haul truck and head out there with her. Hm? Oh, no, I didn't have a job waiting there for me. Place to stay? Well, no, not as such. Money? Well, enough to last a few weeks I guess, as long as you like all four flavors of Ramen. The truck? Well, yes, they'll want it back after we arrive in Minneapolis. Yeah. Uh huh. Yeah. So in essence we had a place to stay (Super 8) and store our stuff (back of the U-Haul) for about 48 hours after our arrival, after which point we would either need to have an apartment or a garage sale. Surprisingly, the stars aligned and all went well, and that's how I came to be sitting in Minneapolis, reading the most useless interviewing guide on the planet made up by some total fuck-wit who was probably a free-lance writer and as such had never been offered nor held a real job in his whole life.

Now I had been on several job interviews before, but they were all for really crappy jobs where the interview was more of a formality than anything - sometimes only consisting of two words in the case of farm labor ('ju wanna?). A nod in the affirmative was all that one took - and, as most of my co-workers at the time either didn't speak English, or were people that you didn't want to spend any more time within arm's reach of than it took to say ' 'ju wanna?', I understood why.

Now, since Monster.com was in its infancy at the time, the best way to look for a job was still in classified ads for the most part. Unfortunately, since news papers charged by the word, some of the ads were quite brief, leaving much to the imagination of the reader. This is how I came to be sitting across from Len the next morning, completely unprepared for what was about to happen. I think the ad went something like this:

*******************************************************
* Asst. Mgr for rapid grow hi-tech company. Will train,
* no exp nec up to 68k to start 612-555-haha
*******************************************************

Ah, management already, excellent. I like delegating, and I'm all about hi-tech stuff. 68k, that's not too shabby either, in fact better than I was expecting for my first job. So I call and make an interview appointment with 'Len', drive up at the appointed time, and get out of the car looking for the address. It's in a strip mall... Okay, fine. Hm. 'E-L-E-C-T-R-O-L-U-X' the sign read. Okay, well, I guess that sounds kind of high tech. Assistant manager for the Electrolux corporation, hah, won't my college buddies be jealous when they find out. So I put on my interview face (chapter 9), and push open the door to find a display room full of vacuum cleaners. Big grey ugly vacuum cleaners. I step out and scrutinize the outside of the door again. . . 'E-L-E-C-T-R-O-L-U-X' it reads. 'Hmm. Maybe they are having the carpets cleaned or something...' I think, as I go back inside. 'Hello?' I say, in my confident, polite, and pleasing interview voice (chapter 6). A strange little man with a very dated suit and bow tie comes walking out from the back room, smiles at me, and then continues walking out the front door dragging a vacuum behind him. He kinda reminded me of that claymation-puppet host guy for those 1970's-era Santa, Frosty, and Rudolph shows that they drag out every year around Christmas. We really need new Christmas shows, don't we? I digress... At any rate, I walked cautiously towards the back room, dully wondering if this is a joke. 'Come in' says a heavy set man with a comb-over and coke-bottle glasses. 'I'm Len' he breathed. 'Hi, I -' I start, but Len cuts in 'Sit down. You see those over there?' he says, grunting towards a wall of ugly grey vacuum cleaners.

Me: 'Yah, th-'
Len: 'That's the new model 55. The chassis is a replica of the original models sold back in 55.'
Me: 'Oh, I-'
Len: 'They're the big seller right now and we push more units than any other store in the Midwest.'
Me: 'That's v-'
Len: 'A lot of folks don't know who we are these days, but if you go knocking on doors of the older generation then you'll see a smile and a wink, because they know quality when they see it.'
Me: 'I'm here about the assistant manager job?'
Len (continuing): 'You know, we use the same technology in these model 55s as jet aero-planes. There's not another vacuum in the world that can make the same claim.'
Me: 'I-'
Len: 'A lot of people will tell you that they can get by with less, but the beauty of an Electrolux vacuum is power and durability.'
Me (in my head, while looking them over): 'Well, the beauty certainly isn't in the chassis...'
Len: 'People don't know what they need in a vacuum anymore. They go for looks, or portability, or because it's quiet, but what they don't know is that it's not picking up all the dirt from their carpet. You don't want a dirty carpet do you?
Me: 'N-'
Len (pounding his fist on the table): 'No one wants a dirty carpet!'
Me (resume still in hand): 'I-'
Len (continuing to pound): 'For $800 today, you'll never have a dirty carpet again!'
Me: 'I'll just go ahead and see myself out...'
Len (talking over me, oblivious to the fact I am leaving): 'This is the finest machine ever built! Could put a man on the moon with the parts inside it!'

Sooo, I emerge from Electrolux a little wiser in the ways of the world, and as it happens we already owned a lovely little green Hoover at the time that even did the stairs. It cost (her) $100 and lasted 9 years before we threw it out - chiefly because she was taken in by the pretty colors of the new Dysons - not because the Hoover was giving out. Secretly, I still miss the Hoover. It was a total whore of a vacuum, sucking up anything that it came across without a single complaint. The new Dyson, by comparison, is kinda prissy. Anyhoo, since the whole Len thing was a failure, I started reading the paper again.

*******************************************************
* Exp cash handler for evening work. Must have reliab
* trans. Apply in person at Minn. Mariott Hotel
*******************************************************

Okay, so it's not Biochemistry exactly, but it could pay the bills while I get a real job eh? So I go down to the Mariott and walk up to the front desk - got four copies of my resume, got two pens, suit - check, tie - check, lookin' good, smellin', well, ok, and here we go!

Me: 'Hi, my name is Hammy, and I'm here to apply for the position posted in the Minnesota Crapper (or whatever their paper was called - I dunno).
She (handing me an application): 'Here, fill this out. I'll let them know you are here.'
Me: 'Thanks.'

So I sit down, and as I am debating whether blue or black ink would be more appropriate for this application - as it was copied on blue paper, I get a tap on the shoulder.

Him: 'Hey, you can leave that here. Follow me.'
Me: 'Okay, nice to meet you, I'm Hammy.'
Him (not looking at me): 'I'm Big Tony.'

He must have noticed my impeccable dress (Chapter 3) and resumes ready in hand (Chapter 4), and that's why I didn't have to fill out or bring the application with me. Yes, he knows how to spot a fellow professional when he sees one (Appendix A), for sure.

Big Tony proceeded to lead us down the hallway, across the hotel, and to the elevator. Were we going to a conference room? Was he giving me a tour of the hotel?

Big Tony (as if sensing my confusion): 'There's a guy you gotta meet.'
Me: 'Okay, sure.'

We get out on the second floor, and walk to a nearby hotel room. Big Tony stops and knocks twice. 'Who is it?' comes from inside. 'It's Big Tony' says Big Tony. 'Yeah, alright.' the inside voice says, and the door opens and we proceed into the room. It's just a room. A hotel room. And not even a suite. My spider sense begins to tingle. Rut Roh Raggy. . .

'Siddown' the guy says. 'I'm Frankie, youse here for da gig, right?'

Me (hesitantly): 'Yes, here is my resume.'
Frankie: 'You're a funny guy.'
Me (naively): 'Thanks, I -'
Frankie: 'Hey Big Tony, getta loada dis guy, here's my resume.'
Big Tony: 'Ha ha ha.'
Me (uncomfortable, restoring to my 'memorized questions to get the interview back on track' (chapter 15)): 'So uhh, what would you say is the most challenging aspect of this position?'
Frankie: 'Getting the clients to pay regular.'
Big Tony: 'Haaaa Ha.'
Me '..?'
Frankie: 'We sell insurance.'
Me (showing interest with related follow-up questions (chapter 16)): 'Oh, you mean like State Farm, or -'
Frankie: 'Hey Tony, dis guys bustin' me up here, like State Farm, that's rich.'
Big Tony: 'Ha ha ha.'
Frankie: 'Yeah, like State Farm, only we sells door to door, see?'
Me (in my head): 'Oh dear God...'
Me (outloud): 'So I would be -'
Frankie: 'You do collections. We collect door to door every week.'
Me: 'I see.'
Frankie: 'Some clients don't pay unless you motivate them. You got skills?'
Me: 'I-uh-huh?!'
Frankie: 'Are you tryin' to break my balls here? What am I, an asshole here?'
Big Tony: 'I'll get this -'
Frankie: 'Get dis guy outta here!'

And I was summarily gotten out of there. And I'm still not really clear on what the job was, except that it was probably painful, illegal, and quite unnecessary. Thankfully, I eventually managed to grab a job at the local University being a lab rat for some cancer research team. The pay was horrible, the tasks repetitive, and the prospects for advancement were dismal - as there were PhD's sitting across from my lab bench doing the exact same work that I was - but at least it paid the rent. It wasn't until later that I slowly gathered some real secrets for good interviewing, a few of which I will attempt to summarize for you here today. The following recommendations are based on being on both sides of the interview table approximately 100 times in the past 5 years - take them for whatever you think they're worth:

1) Dress appropriately to the job that you are applying for. Dress as if you were ready to step out of the interview and start working right away. Any more, and people might think that you're pompous or over-compensating - any less, and you appear not to care about or respect the position. Most interviewees fret about potential employers discovering weaknesses in their skill sets, but when I look across the table at someone I find myself asking 'Will they fit in?' just as often as 'Are they an idiot?'. Dress like you'll fit in.

2) Don't be afraid to admit ignorance of a topic or question asked. The interviewer likely already knows both the textbook answer and the real answer to whatever question they are asking, so don't bother trying to fake it. You'll sound like an idiot, kill your chances for the job, and likely provide endless entertainment for the interviewer's co-workers later that day. Say something like: 'Well, I don't have a lot of experience in that area, but if I had to guess, then I would say [...]' Even if you're wrong, you'll score points for demonstrating an ability to know your own limitations. This engenders trust. Editorial note: Don't try to use this on every question.

3) Have an answer ready for the following interview question: 'So, knowing what you know about our company now, tell me, what can you do to help us reach our goals?' Sounds stupid, yeah, especially if it's McDonalds, but if you go in with a clear picture of what the company is and how you fit in, then the answers you give to any other interview questions will paint a consistent and cohesive picture. If you have a good interviewer, then they will note this - and you will move up the list. If they ask this question straight away (only happened to me once), and you answer it with any kind of eloquence, then you just got the job. Congrats.

4) Have a few questions ready to ask the interviewer. You can stay generic here if you want, though pointed questions are better. Generic? 'So what do you envision the key contributions for this position to be?' 'What do you see as the most challenging aspects of this position?' 'What is a typical day-in-the-life like for your team?' You know, just stuff. Stuff that helps you learn about what kind of chaotic hell-hole you'll be (potentially) thrust into on a Monday coming soon. If you have no questions, then you have no apparent interest, and you'll move down the list fast.

5) Don't say anything stupid. Bad interviewers, especially, are looking for reasons to not hire you rather than looking for reasons to suspect that you will be a star at their company. If you need to keep a mouse in your pocket and stroke him when you get nervous, then the interview is not the best time to mention this. Shut the hell up, keep the mouse in your pocket, and smile.

6) When and if the inevitable subject of salary requirements ever comes up, the company will try to sign you for as little as possible. Oh, they may say that they are working with you to find a 'mutually beneficial' (Chapter 18) arrangement - or some other crap like that, but the fact of that matter is that if you would sign a piece of paper saying that you would do the job for $5 a year, then that would, all of a sudden, become the most beneficial arrangement. When they ask what you want, then you need to respond like this:

Company (wink wink): 'So, what's it going to take to get you to work here, today?'
You: 'Well, that's an excellent question. What are you prepared to offer your best candidate?'
Company (with a suddenly fake, plastic smile): 'Come on, now.'
You: 'Come on, now.'
Company (no matter what they say): 'Blah blah blah.'
You: 'Show me the money.'

Stick to those basics and you'll avoid a lot of uncomfortable situations. Most uncomfortable situation I have ever been in? Sure. I was interviewing at McDonalds just before my senior year of college in order to make ends meet. They had assistant manager positions open which were paying more than anything else at that point, so I decided to lie my way into an interview. 'No, no, I've had enough of college. I'm giving it up one year short of my degree to join your fine organization where I'll happily be the modern-day equivalent of an indentured servant for the rest of my life' I said, or the equivalent, and was invited to interview. During the interview I met with a current McDonald’s manager and listened to him talk about the goals of the company, and McDonald's University, and the training program, and all the other company lines. He indicated that there were several stations that I would have to work my way through and spend about 6 weeks working each until I had attained a mastery of each one. This seemed kind of.. dumb? to me, so I tried to make light of the requirement by saying 'Well, yeah, but do you really need six weeks salting fries? I mean, how can you screw up salting fries?' And this little mistake (don't say anything stupid, see #5 above) cost me approximately 30 of the most uncomfortable minutes in my life (that I will never get back) where we had to go over the proper procedure for salting fries in painstaking detail, as well as anything that could possibly go wrong with the process. To sum up: You salt forwards, back, and then forwards one more time. Three passes, and you try not to get salt in the oil, because it will break down the oil - which I say is complete BS, but I didn't want to get into it with him because I didn't need to spend an hour discussing intermolecular bonding theories with someone who was probably a burger flipper six weeks ago. I actually thanked him for his time and left after our little salting lesson, because no matter what happened next I couldn't see being successful there - even for three months. Some things should just be too damned stupid to be allowed. I went and delivered pizzas instead - and that's another story. :)

Quick Update aka the Cop Out

Yes, I am copping out this week. Actually, it's been about two weeks, hasn't it? I'm sorry, I have been adjusting to a new job and the result is that I haven't had much time to work on music or write anything remotely interesting on here for the last couple of months. I accept the blame.

At any rate, I wanted to make an entry to let y'all know that 1) I am not dead, as Perez Hilton reported earlier, and 2) That I am thankful for the hundreds of you that have gone on to iTunes or Amazon and bought a song. You have inspired me to keep going. Over the past several weeks I have managed to actually finish writing the full-length album that I want to put out, and now it's just a matter of finding the time to record all of the parts that go into it. It will be out this year, even if I have to squeak it by in December. I'm hoping for late summer myself though.

Sooo, highlights of the last few months include:
- Receiving a bottle of simple syrup in the mail from a couple readers in Europe (who must have felt some sympathy for that Simple Syrup story) - thanks guys!!!
- Getting 3 nice 'atta-boys' on the iTunes reviews page (woo hoo!)
- Happily reporting to my wife that the 'I met My Wife at a Strip Club' story is the most popular read on this blog, despite her protests
- Seeing that music video to the right there has received over 300,000 views (combined) from all of the sites that have hosted it. W-O-W!

So, if you'll accept a cop-out for this week, I humbly offer the following joke (which is not mine) for your amusement:

C, E-flat, and G walk into a bar. The bartender says, "Sorry, but we don't serve minors." So, the E-flat leaves, and the C and the G have an open fifth between them. After a few drinks, the fifth is diminished; the G is out flat. An F comes in and tries to augment the situation, but is not sharp enough. A D comes into the bar and heads straight for the bathroom saying, "Excuse me. I'll just be a second." An A comes into the bar, but the bartender is not convinced that this relative of C is not a minor. Then the bartender notices a B-flat hiding at the end of the bar and exclaims, "Get out now! You're the seventh minor I've found in this bar tonight." The E-flat, not easily deflated, comes back to the bar the next night in a 3-piece suit with nicely shined shoes. The bartender says: "You're looking sharp tonight, come on in! This could be a major development." This proves to be the case, as the E-flat takes off the suit, and everything else, and is now au naturel. Eventually, the C sobers up, and realizes in horror that he's under a rest. The C is brought to trial, is found guilty of contributing to the diminution of a minor, and is sentenced to 10 years of DS without Coda at an upscale correctional facility. On appeal, however, the C is found innocent of any wrongdoing, even accidental, and that all accusations to the contrary are bassless. . .

Y'all remember not to take things too seriously, if only for today.

Cheers!